A Piece of You
by lazyboo
Summary: One shot, Emily's POV.  Emily is trying to anesthetise herself to endure the pain of Naomi walking away.  An exploration of what might have happened if Naomi had not turned back in 306 at the lockers.


One shot, Emily's POV. Emily is trying to anesthetise herself to endure the pain of Naomi walking away. An exploration of what might have happened if Naomi had not turned back in 306 at the lockers.

A/N: This started out as a writing exercise, a little exploration of what happened to Emily in Naomi's absence during No Barrier. But then it grew and changed and became a different beast altogether.

I'm hoping that it will get me back into the writing groove for No Barrier. I have got all these ideas lined up for new stories that I really want to explore, but I'm forcing myself to wait until I'm done with NB. But it is proving somewhat recalcitrant, and is going to need a stern talking to sooner rather than later. I hope you can all forgive me for my irregular updates, and that this goes some way towards making up for my lack with NB.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naomily or anything affiliated with Skins. And more's the pity.

**A ****Piece ****of ****You**

Night after night there was an endless string of them. Girls. Women. Sometimes boys. All trying to get a piece of me. And I was too broken... too dead inside to care. I would let them move their bodies next to mine, and if I caught a glimpse of blonde, a hint of blue eyes - I might even respond. If I'd just dropped a pill I might even do more. I had hazy recollections of groping hands, feverish kisses.

But always the scent would be wrong. The shape of their lips. The feel of their skin. There was a tiny part of me that knew - with excruciating clarity - that it was never you. So I would thrust them away, push away the pain. Dance and drink and dose myself into numbness.

The ache in my chest, the rending of my heart - it was relentless. And so I became implacable in my pursuit of relief. Of release. After failing to dissuade me from my course Cook provided me with a steady supply of pills, of powder. Chemicals to distance me from myself. From reality.

I embraced a new reality. One which began with the dark, as I sought out Cook. Took whatever he had to offer me, and washed it down with vodka. I would lose myself in the rhythm, in the beat. Dance until my body screamed with fatigue, then dance some more. And always there would be a procession of willing partners. Looking to score something from me. I don't know if they could sense my darkness. Were drawn inexorably to the gaping void that was my despair. All I knew was that one after another they would approach. Try to seduce. Would put their hands on me. And I would lose myself in them, for as long as I could keep you at bay. But you were always, always there, in my mind. And so I would inevitably push them away. And Cook would appear. To warn off the aggressive, the disgruntled. To pass me yet another pill.

Mornings would find me curled up in Katie's arms. Desperate for solace. Each day her face reflected her escalating concern. Her attempts to reach me were met with unreasoning anger. I didn't want to feel this pain, I didn't fucking want to work through it. I wanted to drown it. Obliterate it. And so we would scream and shout and I would vow to never come to her again. But I could not abide my nights without her. And she welcomed me every time.

Some days I would scream and some days I would sob and other days I would promise to stop. Sometimes I even meant it. But the darkness outside would call to the darkness within me. And after a long day of living with the memories and the pain... the lure of oblivion was overwhelming. So I would dress carefully. Make my way into the night. Searching for peace. Seeking respite from this incessant, crushing torment that you had consigned me to - life without you.

It's been months. Hours and days and weeks and months. Yet I still cannot suppress a flare of excitement every time I catch a flash of peroxide blonde in my peripheral vision. Hear a similar laugh. Even though I know it won't be you, I can't stop hoping it will be. One day. I have learned to live with the reaction, the excitement. Acknowledge it, then tuck it firmly away. It has become easier, over time. The hair is never quite the right length, never quite the right style. The eyes are never quite the right shade of blue. And so my gaze moves on. Restlessly searching. While trying not to see anything at all.

In the end it was the smell of you that truly drew me in. I had fled to the bathroom, escaping the embrace of a particularly tenacious girl. As I pushed open the door my senses were assaulted by a familiar scent - a combination of soap and shampoo and perfume that almost took my knees out from under me. I staggered against the door frame, earned one or two disgusted looks from the occupants of the bathroom. Ignored them, desperately casting my eyes about for the source of the smell, only to find nothing. Shaking my head, I wrote it off as a phantom.

But when I returned to the dance floor my mind would not relent. I kept seeing glimpses of your hair, hearing snatches of your voice. It shattered my fragile reserve and had me wildly searching for Cook, craving chemical numbness. But he was no where to be found. I fought my rising anxiety. Rage building at my own inability to switch off. When he finally reappeared, towing behind him some fucking trollop sporting the freshly shagged look, I screamed at him to give me something. Anything. Unleashed a string of vitriolic curses that would have made Katie proud. I shrugged off his feeble attempts at placation, held out my hand until he caved and placed upon my palm one tiny pill. One tiny piece of peace.

I saw him look at me, saw his eyes cut away, look behind me. Saw them widen in shock. Then an arm was extended past my shoulder, a warm hand closing over my own. Bunching my fingers into a fist around the pill. 'I don't think you need any more of those tonight.'

The scent surrounding me. The sound of the voice in my ear. The fucking feel of the hand on mine. If I had been a Regency heroine I would have swooned. But this was no Austen novel, and I couldn't trust my senses. I willed steel into my knees, spun around. And there you fucking were. I let my eyes drink you in – noted the healthy tan, the relaxed posture, the fucking sparkle in your blue, blue eyes. You looked fucking good. By contrast I felt like hell, and I knew I looked it too. The face that greeted me in the mornings was haggard and gaunt. And even my tightly fitting clothes had begun to hang off my frame, given I rarely ingested anything that wasn't chemical any more. I saw the shock as you took in my appearance, saw a hint of pity, of remorse in your eyes. And then I saw red.

My fury was sudden and monumental. Uncontainable. It roiled in my belly, welling up and up seeking an outlet. My body fairly vibrated with it, as I fought with conflicting desires – I couldn't decide whether to kiss you or slap that look right off your face. The months of desperate longing decided the matter. Transformed the towering rage into roaring lust within seconds. It must have been evident on my face because your eyes darkened to midnight blue, and you came willingly when I seized your top and dragged you towards me.

There was no gentle reconnection. Nothing soft about it at all. It was all bruising lips and sharp teeth, tongues battling for ascendancy. You pulled me to you, rough. I let my hands roam, didn't give a fuck that we were in public, couldn't care less if people were watching every moment. Just needed to feel you. I touched every plane of your body within reach: belly, back, bum, shoulders, arms. When that wasn't enough my hands gravitated to your chest and covered your tits. Let myself remember the feel of you before I caressed and squeezed and tried to block out the thought that other people had been touching them while you were gone. And when that still wasn't enough I moved one hand between your legs. Stroked firmly, revelling in the heat I could feel even through your clothes. Agonising over who else had been allowed there.

When you moaned into my mouth I snapped. Wrenched my lips away as great, heaving sobs racked my body. I collapsed into you, head resting against your collar bone. Fists beating against your chest. Staccato. Measuring out the cadence of my grief and longing. I felt your arms encircle me, cried harder as I realised that your embrace no longer was a safe haven. How could I ever feel safe again when I couldn't trust you not to leave me? Cook stepped up behind me then - lent me his silent strength as you both ushered me out of the club. Back out into the darkness.

I heard you confer with him briefly, heard him let out a piercing whistle to hail a passing cab. Cook slid his fingers gently under my chin, moved my head until I met his eyes. 'You're goin' to be orright now, kid. I promise. Cookie's not going to stop lookin' out for you, yeah? You go with Naomikins for now, and I'll see you both tomorrow.' He shot a dark look at you over my head, and then leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on my cheek. 'Everything's goin' to be orright now Emilio.'

You spoke to him again, voice low. Turned and bundled me into the waiting taxi. I snuggled into your shoulder, sobs finally abating into quiet, broken weeping. You didn't speak in the car, save to give directions to the cabbie. Directions to your house. I was too drained to protest, too depleted to think past this moment. This moment in which you were back and you were holding me and comforting me and I so much wanted to drown in the sensation. But the fear of abandonment was bitter on the back of my tongue, alongside the cheap vodka.

I had calmed by the time we reached your house. Was ready to tell you to get fucked. But you turned to me then, looked right at me, without flinching. 'Stay tonight. Please Emily.' I'd never seen you so open, so easy to read. There was absolute sincerity in your gaze. Remorse. A steel thread of resolve. I was intrigued despite myself, found I was nodding agreement.

I stepped out of the cab, waited until you paid the driver. You stood next to me for a long moment. Both staring up at the house where we had shared so many memories. Shared so much of ourselves. And yet not so much at all. You took my hand then, tugged until I followed you up the walk. I hesitated at the door, paralysed with uncertainty. With fear of what was to come. But you tugged again, gracing me with another open look. This one pleading. And so I conceded. Stepped over the threshold.

The house was dark. Silent. 'Mum's gone over to Keiran's shithole for tonight, so we've got the place... Anyway, do you want a cup of tea or something?'

I shook my head. 'I don't want anything from you. Except an explanation. You walked away from me months ago. Just left me, and I didn't know if you were ever coming back. And now you waltz back home and what? Expect me to pick up where we left off? I don't fucking think so Naomi.' My breathing hitched and I clamped down ruthlessly on the tears that were once again threatening. 'You've... broken me. I'm not sure there's any going back.'

'I don't want to go back. Ever. I was a fucking twat to you, I was unfair to both of us. I never want to go back to that Ems.' You made a chopping motion with your hand. Finality in your tone.

My heart lurched in my chest and sudden nausea churned my belly into knots. 'Then what the fuck..?'

'Let me... Let me tell you a story, Ems.' You gestured to the settee, wordlessly asked me to sit down. So I sat. I waited. Wondered what you could possibly have to say, that could justify what you did to me. 'There was this girl, right? A bit of a daft cow, she was, too stubborn and self-fucking-righteous to tell her own arse from her elbow sometimes. And she had somehow managed to find herself having this thing with another girl. An amazing girl who was beautiful and brave and terrifying. She was terrifying because she was so sure of herself, so confident and comfortable. And she scared the shit out of the girl, the first girl. Because while that girl had more front than Harrods, it was only that. A front. Inside she was terrified. Terrified of what people would think, what people would say. How they would judge her. And most of all she was terrified of exactly how much that other girl meant to her. Shit scared of what would happen if that other girl ever hurt her, or left her.'

'And so the girl kept pushing her away. Refused to let the other girl have all of her, kept a little piece of herself locked away. And that little piece stopped her from being brave. It stopped her from admitting even to herself how much the girl meant to her. And one day, when it all got too hard, the girl decided it was time to have a break. She decided to go away, tell everyone that she needed a holiday. Told the other girl that she needed to go away by herself, to work herself out. And the other girl let her go. She was brave and she let her go. And it made the girl feel even worse because she knew, deep down, that she was just running away.'

'So the girl ran away, off to Cyprus. She took that last little piece of herself off to the warmth and the sun and thought it would make it all better. Thought that being away from the other girl would make life so much easier. So much less complicated. So much fun. But you know what she found? It wasn't fun at all, it was shit. Because every time she did something that should have been fun, it felt like something was missing. And every time a cute guy flirted with her in a bar it felt wrong. And every time she lay in her bed at night she felt lonely. She thought it must just be an adjustment thing, so she deliberately ignored the feelings. Left Cyprus and went to Turkey instead. And there was so much to see and do that for a while it worked, for a while she managed to not think about the other girl. Managed to convince herself that it was all better now.'

'But after a while she began to feel empty. All the things that she was seeing, all the people she was meeting... it all just became... unimportant. Uninteresting. The girl just felt hollow inside. So one day she went down to the beach and she sat there all day. Most of the night too. And she finally realised that the reason she felt so lost and empty was because she had been wrong about that little part of herself. That part of herself that she thought she'd kept to herself. And she cursed herself for being a stupid, arrogant prick, and went and found the next flight home. And all the way home on the plane, all the way home on the train, the girl worried and hoped that she hadn't completely ruined her relationship with the other girl, the brave one. Because what the girl had realised on the beach was that that piece of herself that she thought she'd kept to herself was her heart. And she had been completely wrong. Because her heart had belonged to the other girl all along.'

You looked at me then, imploring. Sincerity shining in your Mediterranean blue eyes. I could feel the tears welling again in my own eyes, dashed them away. Couldn't allow myself to believe, to fully comprehend, what you were you saying. I watched as you knelt down beside me. Trembled when you took my hands, held them gently between your own. 'What I'm trying to tell you Ems, is that I love you. And I'm sorry, so sorry for everything that I've put you through. Sorry that it took me so long to work out what should have been blindingly obvious. Sorry that I've hurt you.'

The tears came thick and fast then. My heart, which had withered and shrunk away to nothingness in your absence, began to unfurl painfully. Haltingly. You slid up next to me on the sofa, wrapped me in your arms again. Held me as I sobbed into your shoulder. But this time the weeping was a healing. I was letting myself feel again. And alongside the pain there was a burgeoning hope. You stroked my hair, whispered soothing endearments into my ear. Cared for me. And eventually my crying slowed, and ceased. As I looked up finally I saw the evidence of your own tears and it was then that I knew. Knew that we actually might have a chance.

And we talked. I told you I was going to need time, to recover. To trust. And you agreed, vowed to do whatever I needed. What I most needed was to feel safe again. To feel like I belonged. And so you took me to your room, tucked me into your bed. Kissed me on the forehead and told me that you loved me over and over again. And as I relaxed, finally back in your arms, I felt the tentative stirrings of peace. As the pieces of you and I began to fit back together.


End file.
